Greetings gentle readers.
As I wandered around this morning, wondering why Katla hasn't blown her top yet, I started considering the relationships people have with the stones beneath them. In Canada, we don't really care all that much - we care more about the soil, or the oil in the tarsands than we do about bedrock. The stuff beneath our feet are just potential natural resources, or foundations for building things to move natural resources. In Nashville, the solid granite bedrock that heaves out of the ground makes for perfect acoustic spaces for sound studios. In Iceland, the rock is almost organic. It occasionally turns liquid and flows to the sea in rivers of lava. It heats the water for drinking and bathing. (note that the translation of Katla is 'kettle") It melts the glaciers and sculpts canyons and creeks. It's like a helpful, yet volatile friend. We've all got one.
Liverpool is a bit odd, though. The rock here is hard, thousands of years post-glacier, and usually a blonde colour, fading to grey as you move closer to the granite towards the south and Wales.
In 1207, the rock was a necessity. In order to gain all the political and economic rights of a city under King John, the place needed a castle and a monastery. A bunch of merchants and fishermen really didn't have the wherewithal, so the King's Charter gave them enough of a kick start that they started quarrying and building. That meant more people. In 1709, Thomas Steers designed the world's first commercial wet dock. It took six years to build. That meant more builders, more quarries, more rock, more bricks, more mortar, more people. That many laborourers living in the city for that amount of time created something that would become useful later - a lot of pubs.
When the wet dock opened, it offered something no other dock in the world could - they could offload a ship's cargo and have it stored or carted in 36 hours. The fastest docks in the world at that time could manage in about 10-12 days. The economy exploded overnight. To prevent literal explosions, fires were not permitted on ships docked in the wet dock. That meant that sailors wanting a hot meal had to go ashore. They were also accustomed to spending their money over a two week period in port. Now that they had a day and a half, binge spending became the order of the day. Pub owners became fantastically wealthy, and there were a lot of them to go around.
Liverpool Castle was torn down so that they could use its bricks and stones to make the wet dock, and then later to create a flood barrier to stop high tide from flowing too high up the river estuary. They screwed that part of the project up, but they still needed a lot of stones to do it. The fame and efficiency of the wet dock spread so quickly that the corporation of the City of Liverpool immediately commissioned more docks - the Queen's Dock, the King's Dock, the Prince's Dock, etc., etc.
Quarrying has always been a big deal in Liverpool. The granite quarry just down the street from where I'm staying is just a huge artificial pit that it has become Liverpool's largest graveyard. I have a photo album of the quarry pit/cemetery beneath the Anglican Cathedral that it helped erect here: https://www.facebook.com/jdsilentio/media_set?set=a.200425130579.257431.521620579&type=3
John Lennon's skiffle band that performed at the now-historic Woolton Village Fête in 1957 was called the Quarrymen. As the traditional quarries began to run into problems like watershed and cartesian springs in the 19th century, the \corporation of the city began to think bigger. They began tunnelling and blasting right into the hills around the city, levelling the ground for even-grade train tracks and underground warehousing from the docks. An underground rail system to move goods from the docks to cavernous warehouses nestled deep beneath the city was eventually abandoned, but not before some of these underground spaces and access tunnels had already begun.
The Cavern Club was a residual side-effect of this attempt to make the rock and stone around the city give way for more transportation and storage, and in so doing, yield more building material to construct greater projects around the surface of the city. The Mersey Tunnel of the late '20s and early '30s was yet another excavation project that created building material for more docks and cathedrals while creating a link between the Wirral side of the Mersey and the Liverpool side.
In short, Liverpudlians consider rock to be an impediment that can be transformed into structural components, quite wildly different from the Icelandic attitude of quietly accepting all of the things that their underfoot landscape offers. This might go some way toward the pugnacious attitude that occasionally surfaces here in the North West of England. We saw it in the Teddy Boys fad of the '50s, the Casual trend of the 70's, and the political upheavals under Thatcher in the 80's.
I reckon that's all I've got in me for tonight, but I'll be back again before you can shake a stick.
Oh, and as for the footy - Liverpool defeated Leeds United 2-0 in a match that was very similar to the Sunderland match. Same score, similar times of the goals, but Leeds were a bit more "up-for-it." Just read the Sunderland report and include the fact that Ben Woodburn has now become the youngest player in Liverpool history to score a professional goal, and you're set.
Until later, goodnight England and the colonies.
Cheers,
—mARKUS
30 November 2016
28 November 2016
Liverpool, Continued
Greetings Gentle Readers.
Liverpool is, in its totality such an assault upon the senses that I shall endeavour to blast out as much as I can before I reach the limits of my physical capacity. Please try to bear with me as I leapfrog from topic to topic.
Iceland Again
It suddenly occurred to me that all of the doors in public and commercial buildings open automatically. This has the effects of making you feel welcomed, ushering you in from the cold and damp, and giving you the creepy sensation that you're in some Scandinavian episode of "The Prisoner."
The Football
Having attended the match last weekend, I'll throw my analysis into the hat, so for those of you without any interest in the tactical nuances of the game, you should probably just skip down to the next topic header.
Sunderland, managed by much-maligned former Manchester United and Everton manager David Moyes, had arrived at Anfield with the full intent of stifling Liverpool FC's attacking prowess. his plan was to attack on the break as soon as his team acquired possession of the ball, at which point his speedy wingers would launch themselves down the sidelines, and his target striker would surge through the middle, supported by a number 10. If his team lost possession of the ball, those two wingers would drop back to protect the gap between the full-backs and centre-backs.
Since Sunderland rarely had any possession of the ball, that meant that Sunderland spent some 70% of the game playing a 6-3-1 formation, and basically kicked anything that moved toward their net. That was mostly the ball, as Liverpool passes and dribbles were punted into touch at every opportunity, but also included the smaller members of the attacking home team, like Phillipe Coutinho and Roberto Firmino.
It was a cynical defensive tactical formation, hoping for a fluke turnover to launch a surprise counter-attack against a superior outfit, but it ultimately could not pay off. Moyes had hope for over an hour, though, as his burly man-marking defenders scythed down one diminutive Brazilian attacker after another without censure.
Two things changed the match.
The first was Jürgen Klopp. Sensing that his team was getting frustrated of running into blind alleys and defensive walls, and angry that the referee wasn't making very many sympathetic calls, particularly in the case of Coutinho, who was stretchered off in considerable discomfort, Klopp called in reinforcements in the person of the twelfth man. Spinning to face the Man Stand (where I was sitting) he hopped about manically, frantically waved his arms, and shrieked in a manner only an irate German can. We responded instantly with a huge chorus of "The Fields of Anfield Road." In so doing, we shamed the Kop, who in turn had to launch their own song, or forever be dishonoured as having lost the traditional place of song-originating wall of sound that they had been holding covetously since 1965. Songs rang around the ground, and the players took heart before redoubling their efforts.
The second was the addition of Divock Origi, who replaced one of the injured South American wizards. The big Belgian battering ram baffled the Sunderland back line by hitting a shot parallel to the touchline across goal with such venomous spin that when it grazed the ground, it shifted direction and swerved around the hapless keeper to nestle into the far bottom corner of the net.
TL;DR
David Moyes and Sunderland played like craven eunuchs but couldn't compete against superior skill and support.
I helped Liverpool defeat Tottenham in May, 2009, but on this day it was Jürgen Klopp who provided the off-field spark to carry the match.
Full English Brekkie
So we sat down on Sunday for a big and expensive breakfast at the Philharmonic. The food was good, but nothing ridiculously palate-seducing. As usual, there was toast, bacon, baked beans, eggs, hash browns, blood pudding, sausage, and tomato. Nothing extraordinary. what did strike me was the Sunday menu. It was topped by bizarre heading title of "The Most Lavish Toilets in Europe." This claim is most assuredly true, as anyone who has been there can attest.
What's odd is to make that claim before describing the food that you are going to serve. It's a bit like a cross-country skier discussing the vomitus that will happen at the finish line, rather than the gold medal.
Contrast
The Philharmonic is on Hope Street. At the downhill terminus of Hope Street is the Anglican Cathedral, which has a weird, neon-illuminated commercialism about it. At the top of the hill, amidst the University District, is the Catholic Metropolitan Cathedral of Christ the King. Looking a bit like Tolkien's tower of Barad-Dûr, sans the Lidless Eye, the austere and spiky building cuts a unique silhouette against the city skyline. This is not a building of lavish toilets.
Liverpool is a working-class town that has known hardship and privation throughout its 800 year history. As a port city, it was hit hard by waves of the Black Death in the 15th and 16th centuries, claiming as much as 25% of the population at a swipe. In the middle of the 19th century, over 350,000 Irish are estimated to have debarked on Liverpool's docks while fleeing the great famine, creating chronic cholera outbreaks and starvation.
In J.D. Salinger's twin novellas "Franny and Zooey," Franny has a profound crisis of faith and has a nervous breakdown. Zooey solves the problem by pretending to be one of his older brothers and doing as he would do. In his analysis, Franny cannot reconcile the god she wants to worship with the god of scripture. In short, she wants Christ to behave like St. Francis of Assisi, and that is inconsistent with the Christian faith.
Everyone reads revelatory scripture with a certain filter. Some people key in on certain themes, like visual artistic depiction regulation in the Qu'ran or the haddith. Some focus on money in the New Testament, or slavery in the Old Testament, but everyone tends to key on what they see as the most relevant or immediate to themselves and their community.
In Liverpool, Christ the King is sublime because he is seen as the embodiment of divine suffering and endurance. The twelve stations of the cross in the Met Cathedral are a catalogue of misery and suffering, and the Catholics of Liverpool love and worship him because he shares their experiences and torments without succumbing to surrender or despair.
To see such extremes and contrasts on a single street in Liverpool only goes to show the intense diversity that underlies a great togetherness that has formed a cultural fabric as resilient as any in human history.
Until next time, stay safe and happy.
Good night England and the Colonies,
–mARKUS
Liverpool is, in its totality such an assault upon the senses that I shall endeavour to blast out as much as I can before I reach the limits of my physical capacity. Please try to bear with me as I leapfrog from topic to topic.
Iceland Again
It suddenly occurred to me that all of the doors in public and commercial buildings open automatically. This has the effects of making you feel welcomed, ushering you in from the cold and damp, and giving you the creepy sensation that you're in some Scandinavian episode of "The Prisoner."
The Football
Having attended the match last weekend, I'll throw my analysis into the hat, so for those of you without any interest in the tactical nuances of the game, you should probably just skip down to the next topic header.
Sunderland, managed by much-maligned former Manchester United and Everton manager David Moyes, had arrived at Anfield with the full intent of stifling Liverpool FC's attacking prowess. his plan was to attack on the break as soon as his team acquired possession of the ball, at which point his speedy wingers would launch themselves down the sidelines, and his target striker would surge through the middle, supported by a number 10. If his team lost possession of the ball, those two wingers would drop back to protect the gap between the full-backs and centre-backs.
Since Sunderland rarely had any possession of the ball, that meant that Sunderland spent some 70% of the game playing a 6-3-1 formation, and basically kicked anything that moved toward their net. That was mostly the ball, as Liverpool passes and dribbles were punted into touch at every opportunity, but also included the smaller members of the attacking home team, like Phillipe Coutinho and Roberto Firmino.
It was a cynical defensive tactical formation, hoping for a fluke turnover to launch a surprise counter-attack against a superior outfit, but it ultimately could not pay off. Moyes had hope for over an hour, though, as his burly man-marking defenders scythed down one diminutive Brazilian attacker after another without censure.
Two things changed the match.
The first was Jürgen Klopp. Sensing that his team was getting frustrated of running into blind alleys and defensive walls, and angry that the referee wasn't making very many sympathetic calls, particularly in the case of Coutinho, who was stretchered off in considerable discomfort, Klopp called in reinforcements in the person of the twelfth man. Spinning to face the Man Stand (where I was sitting) he hopped about manically, frantically waved his arms, and shrieked in a manner only an irate German can. We responded instantly with a huge chorus of "The Fields of Anfield Road." In so doing, we shamed the Kop, who in turn had to launch their own song, or forever be dishonoured as having lost the traditional place of song-originating wall of sound that they had been holding covetously since 1965. Songs rang around the ground, and the players took heart before redoubling their efforts.
The second was the addition of Divock Origi, who replaced one of the injured South American wizards. The big Belgian battering ram baffled the Sunderland back line by hitting a shot parallel to the touchline across goal with such venomous spin that when it grazed the ground, it shifted direction and swerved around the hapless keeper to nestle into the far bottom corner of the net.
TL;DR
David Moyes and Sunderland played like craven eunuchs but couldn't compete against superior skill and support.
I helped Liverpool defeat Tottenham in May, 2009, but on this day it was Jürgen Klopp who provided the off-field spark to carry the match.
Full English Brekkie
So we sat down on Sunday for a big and expensive breakfast at the Philharmonic. The food was good, but nothing ridiculously palate-seducing. As usual, there was toast, bacon, baked beans, eggs, hash browns, blood pudding, sausage, and tomato. Nothing extraordinary. what did strike me was the Sunday menu. It was topped by bizarre heading title of "The Most Lavish Toilets in Europe." This claim is most assuredly true, as anyone who has been there can attest.
What's odd is to make that claim before describing the food that you are going to serve. It's a bit like a cross-country skier discussing the vomitus that will happen at the finish line, rather than the gold medal.
Contrast
The Philharmonic is on Hope Street. At the downhill terminus of Hope Street is the Anglican Cathedral, which has a weird, neon-illuminated commercialism about it. At the top of the hill, amidst the University District, is the Catholic Metropolitan Cathedral of Christ the King. Looking a bit like Tolkien's tower of Barad-Dûr, sans the Lidless Eye, the austere and spiky building cuts a unique silhouette against the city skyline. This is not a building of lavish toilets.
Liverpool is a working-class town that has known hardship and privation throughout its 800 year history. As a port city, it was hit hard by waves of the Black Death in the 15th and 16th centuries, claiming as much as 25% of the population at a swipe. In the middle of the 19th century, over 350,000 Irish are estimated to have debarked on Liverpool's docks while fleeing the great famine, creating chronic cholera outbreaks and starvation.
In J.D. Salinger's twin novellas "Franny and Zooey," Franny has a profound crisis of faith and has a nervous breakdown. Zooey solves the problem by pretending to be one of his older brothers and doing as he would do. In his analysis, Franny cannot reconcile the god she wants to worship with the god of scripture. In short, she wants Christ to behave like St. Francis of Assisi, and that is inconsistent with the Christian faith.
Everyone reads revelatory scripture with a certain filter. Some people key in on certain themes, like visual artistic depiction regulation in the Qu'ran or the haddith. Some focus on money in the New Testament, or slavery in the Old Testament, but everyone tends to key on what they see as the most relevant or immediate to themselves and their community.
In Liverpool, Christ the King is sublime because he is seen as the embodiment of divine suffering and endurance. The twelve stations of the cross in the Met Cathedral are a catalogue of misery and suffering, and the Catholics of Liverpool love and worship him because he shares their experiences and torments without succumbing to surrender or despair.
To see such extremes and contrasts on a single street in Liverpool only goes to show the intense diversity that underlies a great togetherness that has formed a cultural fabric as resilient as any in human history.
Until next time, stay safe and happy.
Good night England and the Colonies,
–mARKUS
27 November 2016
Greetings, gentle readers.
As I've previously mentioned, I'm a bit behind on the events of the past week, but now that the vast majority of the madness, confusion, and outright confrontation is concluded, I'm going to try and go full bore at the things I've noticed.
Hot Springs and Hotties
I have a completely skewed view of Icelandic people after my last night out in Reykjavik. I have no idea what the occasion was, but the live music café/restaurant at which we dined near the old docks had a bizarre demographic. Prior to 2200h, the placed was filled with about 30 unreasonably and ridiculously attractive supermodels, attended by six rather feminine-looking young men. I do not exaggerate. These women paraded out for cigarette breaks on staggered intervals of about half an hour throughout the night, making it basically a constantly cycling catwalk of jaw-dropping pulchritude in heels and evening gowns. After 2200h, they all evaporated into the night with their concierges like some sort of squadron of Cinderellas, and were promptly replaced by a pack of elderly men who looked like slightly better-kept versions of Walter Matthau.
I have no idea what sort of social occasion that was, but if anyone ever asks why I'm a bit hard on Liverpool women, it's because my whole spectrum has been recast.
Also, floating in a hot springs pool with strategically placed flotation devices can do wonders when trying to stretch and relax a compressed spine with a pinched nerve, although when your ears are submerged, some of the noises can be particularly alarming.
Liverpool Basics
Here are some of the first things that an objective observer might notice when arriving in Liverpool and wandering around the place.
Wild Parties
The whole place is a playground. I don't mean end-of-term students on ridiculously irresponsible binges, or gangs of yobbos urinating on dumpsters. I mean actual carnivals, fairgrounds, midways, the lot. The kids are having a blast, and the adults are lapping it up. The Mersey Ferries Building is surrounded by huge fair-style rides, with centrifuges, and all other manner of slinging, catapulting, and twirling devices illuminated by a myriad of pastel colours. Throughout the city, mini-alpine villages have been constructed with bratwurst, mulled wine, and hot chocolate kiosks serving tiny heated chateaus.
People are Beautiful
I don't want you to take my word for it. I've never seen a happier, more optimistic, forward-looking culture. Here's what the local newspaper had for a headline:
"Science City Can Lead UK - Mayor Urges public to back Knowledge Quarter vision."
The article describes a £1 billion program to create a science research area of the city between the hospital district and the university district, creating 10,000 highly-skilled jobs. Of course, the story carries over onto page two, where the reader is led to the next story: "Big interest in new Chinatown." Here we find the Hong Kong and Shanghai investors are looking at dumping £200 million into developing Europe's largest Chinatown into a cornerstone of the fastest-growing UK economy outside of greater London. With 50% of financing secured and a commitment to the Chinese art form of zhezhi, and a motif of an awakening dragon fuelling the theme, excitement is high.
At this point, we look at the recto page opposite page two, and it features the gentle comedic themes of a local cartoonist who, while not side-splittingly funny, writes gently amusing, almost soothing cartoons. An example punchline of a cartoon featuring a dark age Scandinavian couple is "Ye gads, woman! I'm a Viking! I'm supposed to leave rings on the table!"
Not convinced? It goes on.
"Crowds roll up to celebrate good mental health." Liverpool's first ever Mental Health Festival occupied 30 venues with feel-good activities such as the community roller-skating event "Skate - Don't Hate."
The optimism and cheeriness is relentless.
"Rewards for staying active just got a lot more lucrative."
"Flourishing city named best British tourism destination."
"Take the stress out of raising kids" - from a column called "HAPPY ON THE INSIDE."
Other articles detail women's breakfast/yoga programs for Saturday mornings ("Rise and Shine") and parallel columns - one each for the two main football teams in the city. Each exclusively focuses on the positives of that team with only glancing and respectful nods to the other.
Finally, I offer this cartoon strip.
I challenge anyone to find a greater wellspring of positivity within a community of three quarter of a million people. The pool of life, indeed. I should really include a video of the New Zealand All-Blacks performing a haka for Jürgen Klopp at Melwood after explaining that the Maori term for Liverpool translates directly to "Spring of Life." Ah, look for it on YouTube. My back is yearning for some more hot spring attention.
And with that, I bid you good night, England and the colonies.
Cheers,
—mARKUS
As I've previously mentioned, I'm a bit behind on the events of the past week, but now that the vast majority of the madness, confusion, and outright confrontation is concluded, I'm going to try and go full bore at the things I've noticed.
Hot Springs and Hotties
I have a completely skewed view of Icelandic people after my last night out in Reykjavik. I have no idea what the occasion was, but the live music café/restaurant at which we dined near the old docks had a bizarre demographic. Prior to 2200h, the placed was filled with about 30 unreasonably and ridiculously attractive supermodels, attended by six rather feminine-looking young men. I do not exaggerate. These women paraded out for cigarette breaks on staggered intervals of about half an hour throughout the night, making it basically a constantly cycling catwalk of jaw-dropping pulchritude in heels and evening gowns. After 2200h, they all evaporated into the night with their concierges like some sort of squadron of Cinderellas, and were promptly replaced by a pack of elderly men who looked like slightly better-kept versions of Walter Matthau.
I have no idea what sort of social occasion that was, but if anyone ever asks why I'm a bit hard on Liverpool women, it's because my whole spectrum has been recast.
Also, floating in a hot springs pool with strategically placed flotation devices can do wonders when trying to stretch and relax a compressed spine with a pinched nerve, although when your ears are submerged, some of the noises can be particularly alarming.
Liverpool Basics
Here are some of the first things that an objective observer might notice when arriving in Liverpool and wandering around the place.
Wild Parties
The whole place is a playground. I don't mean end-of-term students on ridiculously irresponsible binges, or gangs of yobbos urinating on dumpsters. I mean actual carnivals, fairgrounds, midways, the lot. The kids are having a blast, and the adults are lapping it up. The Mersey Ferries Building is surrounded by huge fair-style rides, with centrifuges, and all other manner of slinging, catapulting, and twirling devices illuminated by a myriad of pastel colours. Throughout the city, mini-alpine villages have been constructed with bratwurst, mulled wine, and hot chocolate kiosks serving tiny heated chateaus.
People are Beautiful
I don't want you to take my word for it. I've never seen a happier, more optimistic, forward-looking culture. Here's what the local newspaper had for a headline:
"Science City Can Lead UK - Mayor Urges public to back Knowledge Quarter vision."
The article describes a £1 billion program to create a science research area of the city between the hospital district and the university district, creating 10,000 highly-skilled jobs. Of course, the story carries over onto page two, where the reader is led to the next story: "Big interest in new Chinatown." Here we find the Hong Kong and Shanghai investors are looking at dumping £200 million into developing Europe's largest Chinatown into a cornerstone of the fastest-growing UK economy outside of greater London. With 50% of financing secured and a commitment to the Chinese art form of zhezhi, and a motif of an awakening dragon fuelling the theme, excitement is high.
At this point, we look at the recto page opposite page two, and it features the gentle comedic themes of a local cartoonist who, while not side-splittingly funny, writes gently amusing, almost soothing cartoons. An example punchline of a cartoon featuring a dark age Scandinavian couple is "Ye gads, woman! I'm a Viking! I'm supposed to leave rings on the table!"
Not convinced? It goes on.
"Crowds roll up to celebrate good mental health." Liverpool's first ever Mental Health Festival occupied 30 venues with feel-good activities such as the community roller-skating event "Skate - Don't Hate."
The optimism and cheeriness is relentless.
"Rewards for staying active just got a lot more lucrative."
"Flourishing city named best British tourism destination."
"Take the stress out of raising kids" - from a column called "HAPPY ON THE INSIDE."
Other articles detail women's breakfast/yoga programs for Saturday mornings ("Rise and Shine") and parallel columns - one each for the two main football teams in the city. Each exclusively focuses on the positives of that team with only glancing and respectful nods to the other.
Finally, I offer this cartoon strip.
And with that, I bid you good night, England and the colonies.
Cheers,
—mARKUS
26 November 2016
Iceland
I'm going to try and post some copy as regularly as possible, since I'm already behind. Good training for journalism. I've already leaned to give Blackie the lead, so the rest is just learning the routine.
My first inclination when attempting to describe Iceland would be to start with the architecture. In smaller communities like Keflavik, the housing design seems to be based on various types of shoe boxes with sloped rooves. This may sound boring and pedestrian, but there's a terribly good reason. The interiors are beautifully well appointed with hardwood walls, doors, and cabinetry, as well as geothermically energized underfloor heating. The reason these small communities are able to afford these rather luxurious and energy-efficient residences is because the component elements are manufactured in abundance and then applied to each new house. It is the very idea of the economy of scale. Everyone builds their house based on the available assembly pieces, rather like Ikea. If everything is cookie-cutter, the rest is just assembly.
An architectural element that the small rural communities share with the larger, urban communities such as Reykjavik is that of light. Living north of the sixtieth parallel, sunlight is at a premium throughout the year. Floor to ceiling windows are commonplace, even in urban highrises. The rural houses that look like shipping containers usually have an entire wall dedicated to insulated glass.
Why focus on architecture? I suppose that if architecture is art in which you live, then this art form tells us everything we need to know about contemporary Icelandic culture.
The people of Iceland are practical and very much dedicated to common sense, but are always open and willing to let more light into their lives.
In short, a lovely place with wonderful people and extremely expensive puffin-based dishes.
Until my next opportunity, goodnight England and the colonies.
—mARKUS
I'm going to try and post some copy as regularly as possible, since I'm already behind. Good training for journalism. I've already leaned to give Blackie the lead, so the rest is just learning the routine.
My first inclination when attempting to describe Iceland would be to start with the architecture. In smaller communities like Keflavik, the housing design seems to be based on various types of shoe boxes with sloped rooves. This may sound boring and pedestrian, but there's a terribly good reason. The interiors are beautifully well appointed with hardwood walls, doors, and cabinetry, as well as geothermically energized underfloor heating. The reason these small communities are able to afford these rather luxurious and energy-efficient residences is because the component elements are manufactured in abundance and then applied to each new house. It is the very idea of the economy of scale. Everyone builds their house based on the available assembly pieces, rather like Ikea. If everything is cookie-cutter, the rest is just assembly.
An architectural element that the small rural communities share with the larger, urban communities such as Reykjavik is that of light. Living north of the sixtieth parallel, sunlight is at a premium throughout the year. Floor to ceiling windows are commonplace, even in urban highrises. The rural houses that look like shipping containers usually have an entire wall dedicated to insulated glass.
Why focus on architecture? I suppose that if architecture is art in which you live, then this art form tells us everything we need to know about contemporary Icelandic culture.
The people of Iceland are practical and very much dedicated to common sense, but are always open and willing to let more light into their lives.
In short, a lovely place with wonderful people and extremely expensive puffin-based dishes.
Until my next opportunity, goodnight England and the colonies.
—mARKUS
24 November 2016
Return to Merseyside
Greetings, gentle readers.
And so it came to pass that in those days of much confusion and despair, wherein artists and visionaries fell by the score and frustrated despair tore down the halls of government offices, replacing them with street-fighting beer halls, there was a small band of adventurers that decided to take a time-out.
The following blogs are just the observations of one of these adventurers, desperately trying to stave off the forces of cynicism and apathy.
Prologue
I was on FaceBook in the summer of 2016. Dutarte had been elected in the Philippines, Erdogan in Turkey, and Brexit seemed to start an authoritarian political storm that would sweep through Hungary, Romania, Macedonia, and Moldova. Bernie Sanders had suspended his campaign. Like many others, I was forced to consider the hypothetical of voting for Hillary Clinton just to prevent Donald J. Trump from occupying the Oval Office. Times were bad.
But there was still Facebook. A minor notification reminded me that IcelandAir had made the Edmonton International Airport a major hub of operations, and offered not only direct flights to Keflavik, but free stopovers when connecting to European destinations. In the anti-corporate tumult of all of the news items broadcast by the Ring of Fire network, the Young Turks, and Redacted Tonight, I realized that one company had made an effort to cooperate and nurture a relationship with my community. I clicked on one of their sponsored ads and went to their page.
I sent a message explaining why I would like to extend my patronage toward them and offered some preferences and constraints. They promptly sent me back a full suggested itinerary. I was so impressed that I bought three tickets and told my friends later that we were going on a trip.
We were to fly to Iceland, stay two days, then take off again for Manchester. From thence, we were to shuffle directly off to Liverpool by rail. Eleven days on Merseyside would be followed by a train ride to Manchester, and then back to Keflavik for a day. From there we would be dumped back at our point of origin.
So that's the background. The blog posts that follow are just my experiences and observations of the people and places that we encountered along the way. I hope that some of them may provide some sort of insight into the human condition and some of the things that make us part of a greater global village and not a tribe amongst warring tribes.
Part One should be along shortly, but until then,
Goodnight England and the colonies.
—mARKUS
And so it came to pass that in those days of much confusion and despair, wherein artists and visionaries fell by the score and frustrated despair tore down the halls of government offices, replacing them with street-fighting beer halls, there was a small band of adventurers that decided to take a time-out.
The following blogs are just the observations of one of these adventurers, desperately trying to stave off the forces of cynicism and apathy.
Prologue
I was on FaceBook in the summer of 2016. Dutarte had been elected in the Philippines, Erdogan in Turkey, and Brexit seemed to start an authoritarian political storm that would sweep through Hungary, Romania, Macedonia, and Moldova. Bernie Sanders had suspended his campaign. Like many others, I was forced to consider the hypothetical of voting for Hillary Clinton just to prevent Donald J. Trump from occupying the Oval Office. Times were bad.
But there was still Facebook. A minor notification reminded me that IcelandAir had made the Edmonton International Airport a major hub of operations, and offered not only direct flights to Keflavik, but free stopovers when connecting to European destinations. In the anti-corporate tumult of all of the news items broadcast by the Ring of Fire network, the Young Turks, and Redacted Tonight, I realized that one company had made an effort to cooperate and nurture a relationship with my community. I clicked on one of their sponsored ads and went to their page.
I sent a message explaining why I would like to extend my patronage toward them and offered some preferences and constraints. They promptly sent me back a full suggested itinerary. I was so impressed that I bought three tickets and told my friends later that we were going on a trip.
We were to fly to Iceland, stay two days, then take off again for Manchester. From thence, we were to shuffle directly off to Liverpool by rail. Eleven days on Merseyside would be followed by a train ride to Manchester, and then back to Keflavik for a day. From there we would be dumped back at our point of origin.
So that's the background. The blog posts that follow are just my experiences and observations of the people and places that we encountered along the way. I hope that some of them may provide some sort of insight into the human condition and some of the things that make us part of a greater global village and not a tribe amongst warring tribes.
Part One should be along shortly, but until then,
Goodnight England and the colonies.
—mARKUS
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